Something to Listen to
by Joseph McClintock
Summary: What's that noise beyond the wall. What is he saying and why does he do it? Why does this happen every night. I'm going to get to the bottom of this no matter what.


Something To Listen To

Shrouded in the shadows of my room and a remote gripped tightly in my hand, I laid my eyes upon the sprinkles of light radiating from my television. Half dead was I as I could feel myself falling into my much needed sleep. I don't even know why I turned on the damn thing anyways, I have work tomorrow. But regardless I laid there half paying attention to the nonstop infomercials. The boring premise of old women showing off jewelry or baking a fucking roast is such sublime material to snooze away to.

But yet I'm still awake. Why? I have no reason to stay up, so what's preventing me from doing so? I'll tell you why. I hear voices. No, not from my TV, or in my head. But from my walls.

For the past three nights at every single damn 2:00AM I began hearing strange muffled voices beyond my apartment walls. Of course this isn't out of the ordinary that is. I've had plenty of moments where some jackass is either playing loud music or creating some domestic violence bullshit with some dumb bitch. Basically some stupid annoying shit that no one cares about.

But this. This was different. And I swear to God I think I'm hearing the exact same shit every night. It's as if someone is literally saying something really loud, then waits the next night, and then says the exact same shit again all over. And I mean exact. Like exactly exact. The same tone, the same pace, the same fucking everything.

But then it gets even weirder than that. After this person beyond my walls finishes whatever the fuck they're reciting, they then start playing these really loud noises. Like bells ringing in tempo non stop.

Why? Who fuck does this? And every night that is?

Eventually I do fall asleep (thankfully) only to wake up late. I don't even have time to eat breakfast for God's sake. But what can I do about it? I do need money, and I can only get it by going outside my apartment.

I live in a Manhattan apartment building on the fourth floor. So everyday when I leave home for work, I have to walk through a long hallway to get to the elevator. And everyday when I leave, I walk past the door that leads into my neighbors home, the same home that makes those strange muffled sounds every night at 2:00AM. And every day I come back from work, I walk past that door again. 403.

Basically, at minimum I see this door two times a day. And I've been living here in these apartments for about three months now and not once have I ever seen who lives there at room 403. Normally I don't give two shits about who lives near me, but I find it very fucking suspicious that I've never seen some dude who literally fucking lives right next me, and who shouts every God damn night at 2:00 AM.

Anyways after dealing with my boss's bullshit for the day I come home like around 7:00PM. This time I have an intent of speaking to this asshole who lives next door. Here I go fucking balling through these hallways as if I'm about to fuck someone up. But honestly, I was pretty fucking nervous. It's not that I can't kick someone's ass. It's just I'm not really sure what this weirdo is going to look like or what he might do. This person isn't exactly normal in my book, if I ever wrote one. But none of that shit really matters anymore now does it? This asshole needs to quit his shit. So I knocked on his door. And to my surprise no response. So I knocked again. Yet no one answered.

"Hey man, open up! I need to talk to you!"

Nothing.

"Look man, just keep it down will you. Some of us are trying to sleep!"

Maybe he wasn't home. As of any of that is my problem. Oh wait. It is my fucking problem. This asshole won't get the memo! Whatever I'll just deal with it later.

Anyways, I head on home only to do the same shit like I always do. Eat pizza roles, play video games, jack off to porn, and shit in toilet like always. Really living the high life here. I seriously need to bring a girl here every once in awhile. Shit just gets really boring. Or go hang out with some friends, but they always want me to be spending money on some stupid shit. Fuck 'em. What do I care? I can party all by myself. Hell, maybe I'll even bring home a hooker. That'll be a lot more fun.

Unfortunately my party has to end or at least that's what 12:00AM says. I can sleep now if I want to, and I need to. But why should I? Working at a clothing store is just… fucking boring. And the pay isn't really worth shit to be honest. It's the same constant monotony that drags my life to hell everyday. And the utter pointlessness that keeps me up every night. I realized that fact days ago. That my life is shit. That not one single person in this world could give a shit about me. Because I shitted all over them. And now everyone's tired of my bullshit. But you know, shit just happens.

Like staying up all night thinking about the future. Like how I'm going to die a lonely asshole who will be forgotten by the people of today and tomorrow. To live without anything meaningful to my life or to exist without purpose. I can feel my heart sinking deeper and deeper into stomach and my mind spinning and spinning until I completely lose it. And this goes on and on until some asshole has to fucking mock me every God damn night at 2:00AM with his inaudible ramblings.

Is he fucking serious!? Again!? Is he really doing this again!?

I jumped towards my wall and pressed my ear against it. There was a voice. The same exact fucking voice reciting the same fucking thing. AGAIN!

That's fucking it, I've had enough of this. I stormed out of my apartment and walked straight to this dude's front door banging violently like mad mother fucker.

"Hey man! Open up!" I yelled. "I said open up!"

I kept on banging and knocking against the 403 until I could feel my knuckles bleed against the wooden door. But I didn't give a single shit. I wanted this to end, no matter what.

But eventually I had to stop. Mrs. Blair, a widow who lived across from me opened her door to see what all the commotion was about (don't as why I know that). She looked at me horrified. I guess she's never seen me when I'm pissed off.

"What are doing out this late?" she asked me. Please God don't let me lash out on this woman, I've had this anger stored for someone else.

"Nothing," I said walking back to my door. "I'm just wasting my time here."

That night I had to fall asleep again to rest of whatever was going on in that apartment. It was the portion with the bells. Listening to them again I could make it what they reminded me of. They were more like electronic dings than ringing. Something that you'd here from a cash register or a ticket machine. It was definitely something familiar, so much that it carried me into my dreams and woke me up to yet again into another frustrating morning. I didn't wake up late this time. But I did feel like shit. My cheat felt constricted and my head was filled with the muffled voice and dinging.

I called my boss that morning to let her know that I wasn't feeling well. She told me, "don't even bother bringing a doctor's note." Was I fired? Who cares, place fucking sucked anyways. But I do have time to visit the office now, I could make an official complaint to the staff, that'll fucking show him, whoever he is.

I made my way to office on the first floor where a young employee by the name of Antwon was working on his computer.

"Hello sir, what can I do for you today?" he said with a forced smile. Jesus, who put up a gun against his head, am I right.

"Look man. I got an obnoxious neighbor who does some pretty weird stuff every night."

"A complaint? What room?" he asked.

"402."

He typed the numbers into his computer only to say, "No. The room that you're filing a complaint against."

"Oh. 403," I said waiting impatiently for him to type it in again.

"Umm," he mumbled. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

The kid looked rather puzzled. "Room 403 is vacant," He said.

"What?"

"It means nobody lives there."

"I know what vacant means!"

Now I made it awkward. The kid looked pretty uncomfortable too. I could tell he just wanted me to go away.

"Look," he said opening a nearby drawer. "This is usually against the rules, but I'll make an exception just for you." He handed me a key similar to all the other apartment keys that the residents had.

"This will let you into 403. Just give it back when you're done."

And with that I was gone. Back into the elevator to return to my floor more confused and dumbfounded than ever. What the fuck is going on in that apartment?

There goes the elevator doors leading me into that dreaded hallway yet again. I could feel my stomach clenching and churning as each step I took left me utterly horrified at what I might discover.

Here I am now, standing before 403. Gripping the key tightly in my hand. Just what lies beyond here? Do I want to even know?

All of a sudden I hear the door behind me. I panicked only to see that it was Mrs. Blaire again. Stupid bitch, don't do that.

"Why are you standing there again?" She asked standing behind her door. Something about her was strange. She didn't seem concerned or scared. Instead she looked rather curious. Suddenly it all became clear what she was looking for.

"Are you busy?" She said suddenly.

"No," I said. What am I doing? Of course I am!

"Do you want to come inside?" She suggested holding onto her door. Those words struck me. I really didn't want to go inside 403. No matter what I can't just bare seeking whatever was inside there. I felt like a little bitch cowering away into some bitch's den. But what could I do? I didn't want to die today.

One moment I'm contemplating supernaturalsupernaturalmy fulfillment of the bizarre and another moment I'm here getting my dick sucked by Mrs. Blaire again. I sat there on the edge of the her bed thinking only of 403, the voice, and the beeping. Soon her legs would wrap around me as I couldn't wrap around my head that there was nodinging. But a taste wouldn't satisfy her. She laid on her back on the bed and invited me further inside. Soon her legs would wrap around me as I tried to wrap my head around the fact that there was no one inside that apartment. For once in my life I couldn't believe that I regretted fucking someone for free. What did I value more? Releasing my satisfaction for curiosity or releasing my cum for Mrs. Blair?

"Harder!" She yelled like always. Yet I grew soft. Midway fucking her I realized that I had ran away from something that could have filled my desire for purpose in this life.

"What are doing?" She said panting. "I'm not done!"

I pulled out and finished by cumming all over her stomach. She was disappointed to say the least, but I didn't fucking care. It's her fault trying to get some dick from someone with an existential crisis.

"Is that all?" She said wiping off her belly with a tissue. "You're usually more energetic."

"I haven't slept in days," I exhausted.

She began to stroke me while kissing my neck. Yet I didn't feel any of the pleasure. Only the emptiness that filled my head for the last couple of days.

"You seem to be having issues. I'll help you once since you're always helping me," she whispered.

I don't remember much after that, only that I fell asleep and lost track of time because I ended up waking up with her still sucking me off. She was sleeping too, just never bothered to take my dick out if her mouth. I swear that lady has fucking problems.

Now I lay here again, forced to stay up again because I decided to sleep during the day. I glanced over at her clock.

1:50AM

If the stars didn't fucking align already. Now I'm left with a choice. Keep my dick in Mrs. Blaire's mouth or… 403.

That voice. For the past four nights that voice will appear at exactly 2:00AM. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. I spend the whole day getting free pussy and catch this asshole red handed in the act at the stroke of two.

Yeah. Fuck this asshole.

I got dressed trying not to wake up Mrs. Blaire. God, she'll never let me leave. No wonder her husband hung himself (DO NOT ASK ME HOW I KNOW THAT).

Soon enough I found myself standing right in front of 403 at exactly 1:59AM with the key inside the keyhole. I stood there with every once of adrenaline igniting within my blood as I waited with the most impatience I have ever had in my entire life. I honestly feel like I was ready to FUCKING kill someone.

2:00AM

Twisted the lock and swung that door wide fucking open. I ran inside into the center of the living room expecting someone reciting those stupid words and playing those annoying dings.

But there was no one. The living room was empty. In fact, the whole fucking house was empty. All except one. The kitchen. Inside the kitchen was a small wooden table with a single folded paper note. I approached the table coming closer to the note. I unfolded it looking at the contents.

"What the hell," I said aloud. The hell is this? Wait… hold… this looks familiar. In fact, I do recognized this, all of it in fact. The note was filled with words that were similar to what I heard all those nights ago. Suddenly it all became clear to me as I read the folded note aloud, standing before a single wooden table in the empty 403 at 2:00AM.

"The FitnessGram Pacer Test is a multistage aerobic capacity test that progressively gets more difficult as it continues. The 20 meter pacer test will begin in 30 seconds. Line up at the start. The running speed starts slowly but gets faster each minute after you hear this signal [ding]. A sing lap should be completed every time you hear this sound. [Ding]. Remember to run in a straight line and run as long as possible. The second time you fail to complete a lap before the sound, your test is over. The test will begin on the word start. On your mark. Get ready!... Start. [ding]"

[Ding]

[Ding]

[Ding]


End file.
